Half in Love with Artful Death (12 page)

Rhodes nodded. “Somebody killed him, Mrs. Collins. I believe somebody hit him with that bronze head that's gone missing, and that's what killed him, not a stroke or a heart attack or anything like that. You have to accept it.”

Ella started to sob and sat in the desk chair. Bonnie stood behind her and patted her shoulder.

“He's right, Ella,” Bonnie said. “You can't keep denying it. Somebody killed Burt. Good riddance to bad rubbish, if you ask me.”

Ella sobbed harder. Rhodes kept quiet.

After about half a minute, Ella got control of herself. “Who would have done a thing like that? Everybody loved Burt.”

“Not everybody,” Rhodes said, wondering if Ella could possibly be as oblivious to the obvious as she seemed. “He made some enemies around town. You must remember the trouble he had with the people who run this hotel.”

“He said he was sorry about that. He didn't like the idea of foreigners coming here and taking our jobs, but he was sorry about painting the walls here.”

“The Patels are from Houston,” Rhodes said, thinking that Houston was like a foreign country to some people in Blacklin County. “They're all U.S. citizens.”

“Burt never believed that. He said they came from India.”

“A generation ago, maybe, but everybody working here was born in this country.”

“If you say so.”

Rhodes recalled that Burt had said the same thing only the day before. Neither he nor Ella was going to be confused by the facts.

“Was there anybody else that Burt had problems with?” Rhodes asked.

“No, nobody. Everybody liked him.”

“I didn't,” Bonnie said. “I have to tell you the truth, Ella, I'm not sorry he's gone.”

Ella started to sob again. Bonnie looked at Rhodes. “I was in Thurston when he died, in case you're wondering.”

“I know,” Rhodes said. “I was at the house when Ella called you.”

“She might've called my cell phone. I could've been lurking right outside.”

“I'll check with your husband.”

“You do that. Elbert Crowley. We live about a block off the street that runs in front of Hod Barrett's store. Hod doesn't much like you, did you know that?”

“I know that,” Rhodes said. “He's not the only one.”

“Hod says he's never voted for you and never will. That's all right. Elbert likes you. I think I do, too. You check with Elbert about me.”

“I will. Will you and Ella be all right?”

Ella was still sobbing, but very quietly.

“Of course we will. I'm going to check out of here and take her by the funeral home. She needs to make the arrangements.”

“Good idea,” Rhodes said.

He said good-bye and left. He wanted to visit the funeral home, too, and he thought it would be a good idea to get there before the sisters did.

*   *   *

Rhodes pulled in behind Ballinger's Funeral Home and parked on the small paved lot. The funeral home had once been a mansion with tennis courts and a swimming pool on its grounds. Those were gone now, and the brick outbuilding that had been the servants' quarters was the office. It was also where Clyde Ballinger, the owner of the funeral home and its director, who was a bachelor, lived in the upstairs half.

“Come on in,” Ballinger called when Rhodes knocked on his door.

Rhodes went inside and looked around. The office had changed a bit over the last few years, especially the top of Ballinger's desk, which used to be partially covered at all times by old paperback books, the kind that Ballinger liked to say weren't being written anymore. Their colorful and politically incorrect covers had been part of their appeal, but not to Ballinger, who was interested mainly in their contents. He still liked to read them, but now the only thing on his desk was some kind of tablet computer. He'd started out with a Kindle, Rhodes recalled, but that had been replaced.

“I thought you'd be dropping by, Sheriff,” Ballinger said. “Dr. White's autopsy report is right here.”

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a folder, which he handed to Rhodes.

“Take a seat,” Ballinger said. “Look it over. Then we'll get the personal effects. They're in the locker in the main building.”

Rhodes sat down and flipped through the report. It confirmed that Burt's death had resulted from a blow to the head and mentioned that there were no defensive wounds. Burt hadn't been expecting anybody to pound in the back of his head. No mention of any residue on Burt's hands, either. If he'd been using spray paint, none of it had clung to him.

“You know who did it yet?” Ballinger asked when Rhodes was finished reading.

“Not yet,” Rhodes said.

“Just a matter of time, though, right?”

“I hope so.”

Ballinger patted his tablet. “If the boys from the Eight-Seven were on the case, they'd have it wrapped up in no time.”

One of Ballinger's favorite writers was Ed McBain, who'd written a long series of books about the detectives of the 87th Precinct in a city a lot like New York. Ballinger loved to tell Rhodes what great crime-solvers the members of the Eight-Seven were. He didn't mean to imply that Rhodes and his deputies were inferior, or so he claimed.

“I don't have quite the manpower and facilities of the Eight-Seven,” Rhodes said.

“They didn't have any more facilities than you do, back when they started. It was mostly grinding it out.” Ballinger patted his tablet again. “You know the trouble with these things?”

“No,” Rhodes said. “I don't own one.”

“Well, you should, but here's the trouble. Even if you had one, you couldn't get all Ed McBain's books about the Eight-Seven for it. He wrote fifty or sixty of them, and they don't have near that many for sale.”

“I thought you'd read all of them.”

“Nope. There are still a few I need. I've about given up on garage sales, though. They don't turn up there anymore. I'll just have to wait till they get them into electronic format, I guess. I hope it'll be soon.” He stood up. “You want to get those personal effects?”

“Sure,” Rhodes said. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

The back room of the funeral home was small and had probably been some kind of mudroom back in the old days. It was just fine now for holding two men, a locker, and not much else. Rhodes got the personal effects from the locker. They were sealed in a bag, but there was a list of them printed out: shirt, socks, pants, underwear, wallet, shoes, belt, keys, and thirty-seven cents in change.

“No cell phone,” Rhodes said. He'd learned a lot about the value of cell phones in criminal cases over the last few years.

“I didn't know Burt very well,” Ballinger said, “but if there was one man in town who didn't have a cell phone, it would be Burt.”

Rhodes supposed that was true. No computer, no cell phone. Burt didn't care much for the twenty-first century. He probably hadn't cared much for the twentieth, either, considering the way he treated his wife.

“I'll take all this with me,” Rhodes said. “Thanks for your help.”

“Always happy to help the forces of the law. Will you be at the funeral?”

“Maybe. Depends on a lot of things. I'll decide after the arrangements have been made.”

“Mrs. Collins is coming around later this morning. With her sister.”

“I've met her sister,” Rhodes said. “You'll like her.”

“I like everybody,” Ballinger said, and Rhodes almost believed him.

*   *   *

Rhodes went by the jail to file the autopsy report and to put Collins's possessions in the evidence locker. He'd have Ruth Grady go over them later.

Hack and Lawton looked ready for conversation as soon as Rhodes walked in, but he didn't give them a chance to get started. He wanted to log in the evidence and file the report before they got started on him.

When Rhodes was finished, he leaned back in his chair to relax for a second. That was all the opening Hack needed.

“Got a call from Miz Harbison this mornin'. You know Miz Harbison?”

Rhodes knew her, but Lawton didn't give him a chance to answer. He jumped right into the conversation. “She's a widow-woman lives down outside of town close to the old grain elevator. Lives by herself.”

Hack wasn't about to let Lawton take over the conversation. “You know how it is with women livin' by themselves. They get a little nervous, and what she called about was a man who came bangin' on her door this mornin'.”

“Told her his car broke down,” Lawton said, earning himself one of Hack's patented glares.

“I'm the one took the call,” Hack said.

Lawton just grinned, and Hack gave up glaring at him after a few seconds.

“Anyway,” Hack said, “the man came up to her house and right up on the porch and started to bang on the door.”

“You told that part already,” Lawton said.

“I know I did, but you keep interruptin' me. If you'd let me tell it straight out, I wouldn't have to repeat things.”

“Sorry 'bout that,” Lawton said, but Rhodes could tell he wasn't sorry in the least.

“All right,” Hack said, “where was I?”

“Man was banging on the door,” Rhodes said before Lawton could.

“Yeah, and he was hittin' it pretty hard, Miz Harbison said. It was a brand-new door. She'd just got it the other day from Elmer at the hardware store out on the highway, and he'd sent somebody to install it. Good solid door, but she didn't want it banged up.”

“She didn't open it, though,” Lawton said.

Hack didn't even bother to look at him that time. He just sat and waited. When Lawton didn't offer anything more, Hack said, “She called out and asked him what he wanted. That's when he told her his car had broke down and could he use her phone.”

“She didn't believe him,” Lawton said.

Hack turned in his chair. Lawton clamped his mouth shut, and Hack turned back to Rhodes.

“She asked him if he had a cell phone,” Hack said, “and he told her he wasn't gettin' any bars. No service out there. She didn't believe that, either. Her phone worked, so he must be lyin'.

“She has a cell phone?” Rhodes said.

“Nope. Just a landline, but it worked, so she figured his phone should work, too. She told him she was goin' for her shotgun, and she did. When she came back to the door, the man was gone, and she found out he'd punched a hole in her door.”

Hack stopped.

“Brand-new door,” Lawton said, and Hack didn't challenge him.

Rhodes knew they'd set him up for a big ending, but he didn't know what it could be. As usual, they were several steps ahead of him. They obviously wanted him to ask something, so he said, “Did you send out a deputy?”

“Sent Andy,” Hack said. “He'd just left the Collins place, so he wasn't but a few miles away.”

“Did he find the man?”

“Yeah,” Hack said. “He was hikin' back toward town and lookin' plumb miserable. Andy asked him where he was headed, and he said back to town. Said his daddy had worked at the old grain elevator long time ago, when it was still operatin', and he wanted to take a look at it. Then his car conked out on him.”

“Was that the truth?”

“Guess so. Andy called Cal Autry and told him to send a tow truck out to get the car and give the fella a ride into town.”

“What about the door?”

“Andy asked him about that. The man said he didn't hurt the door. Just tapped on it with his bare knuckles.”

“Andy checked, I hope.”

“Sure he did. He knows how to treat a complaint.”

“Found the hole, too,” Lawton said.

Hack started to spin around in his chair, but Rhodes held up a hand to stop him.

“How big was the hole?” Rhodes asked.

“Pretty small,” Hack said. “Real small, in fact.”

“It was the peephole,” Lawton said.

Hack stood up. Rhodes thought he might attack Lawton, who'd committed the biggest sin of all. He'd stolen the punch line. Hack didn't move for a second. Then he sighed and sat back down.

“It was the peephole,” he said, as if Lawton hadn't spoken. “Miz Harbison hadn't noticed it before, and not ever havin' had one or seen one, she didn't even know it was there. Andy set her straight and showed her how it worked. She thinks it's a wonderful thing. ‘What'll they think of next?' is what she said to Andy. She said she was sorry if she scared the man off, too. She didn't want to turn away anybody in trouble. The shotgun was just to make sure he didn't molest her.”

“A woman livin' alone can't be too careful,” Lawton said. “That's what Andy told her.”

“I hope he didn't encourage her to shoot people,” Rhodes said.

Andy was young and still learning the job. He had a tendency to overreact from time to time.

“Nope,” Hack said. “He told her to be really picky about who she shot.”

“That's a relief.”

“Andy said he knew you'd appreciate how tactful he was. You found out who killed Burt yet?”

“Not yet,” Rhodes said.

“Then why're you sittin' around listenin' to us?”

“Sometimes I ask myself the same thing,” Rhodes said. He stood up. “I'll be at my courthouse office if you need me, and I'm turning off my cell phone. Don't tell anybody else where I am, and don't call me on the office phone unless it's a real emergency.”

“Like if an asteroid is about to hit the earth and wipe out ever'body and ever'thing?” Hack asked.

“Yes,” Rhodes said. “Like that.”

“It wouldn't wipe out
ever'thing,
” Lawton said. “The cockroaches would still be here.”

“Not even the cockroaches could live through an asteroid hit,” Hack said.

“I bet they could, and even if they couldn't,
somethin'
could. Like germs and such as that.”